


Haunted By The Ghost Of You

by gallavichxsoulmates



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Ian Gallagher, Flashbacks, Hurt Ian Gallagher, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, POV Ian Gallagher, Post Season 10, References to Canon, References to Illness, Sad Ian Gallagher, happy flashbacks, no happy ending, this shit is hella sad i'm sorry :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallavichxsoulmates/pseuds/gallavichxsoulmates
Summary: “I learned to stay away from you because I knew you’d always come back to me.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57





	Haunted By The Ghost Of You

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what's wrong with my mind, but somehow I dreamt about this scenario and I couldn't get it off.  
> It's not like we didn't already know I'm a sucker for sad stuff and all, so I just write it down.  
> I hope y'all will not hate me for this as much as I hate my self lmao.
> 
> By the way the inspo was taken from "the night we met" by Lord Huron

“Hey,” Ian began, letting himself fall into his usual spot, relaxing, his back stretched out against the space between the cold stone and the tree that soared up above his head, shielding his pale skin from the sunshine that – in the warmth of that day in May – shone brighter than ever. “I'm sorry I haven't been here these last few days,” he said, voice almost like a whisper. “Today was getting closer and closer and I...”

Ian paused, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying desperately to keep his emotions under control; he wouldn't collapse – he wanted to stay strong.

One deep breath and his lungs began to breathe again, his chest returning to a regular rhythm.

“I won’t let it happen again.” The fingers of one hand dipped down to the ground, stroking the damp blades of grass, and the hint of a smile flashed on his lips, the motion bringing to mind that very same feeling he had gotten when he would stroke that soft, pitch-black hair between his fingers. “I'm not going anywhere,” he admitted, voice shaky, and closed his eyes – resting his head against the trunk behind him as if he couldn’t support the weight of it – and allowed the slight rustling of the wind to fill the deafening void that continued to rumble in his chest.

He opened his eyes again, casting his gaze upwards at nothing in particular, and with a broken voice he mumbled, “I miss you…” and a hiss halfway between a laugh and a sob escaped him, and he sniffled, the sound betraying him before he could continue.

“Time should have stopped this pain. Doesn’t everyone say that time heals all wounds?”

A breath, and then another, before the tears threatened; but Ian didn't want to break. Not yet. So faster than his emotions could move, he put a hand to his face and erased the proof, and a sob shook his trembling body before he managed to compose himself once more, turning his face away, and for a moment he fooled himself into thinking that he would meet two cold, ice-blue eyes, looking back at him with an intense and fiery gaze.

“Maybe this wound is too deep; maybe time alone won't help. Maybe…” Ian’s wet, red eyes began to burn. “Maybe part of me is…" He cleared his throat. “..is still too bound to you." Heavy eyelids were weighing down, and he was gasping now. “Maybe I don't want it to heal; maybe I keep clinging to this pain because it's the only thing that keeps me tied to you in this life.”

This time, when tears streamed down his cheeks, Ian didn't fight it, he let them mark his face.

“And I don't want to let you go, Mickey.” He smiled, but that smile didn't reach his eyes. “What the fuck am I supposed to do, huh?” he cursed, but there was no anger in his words. “I had all of you and now there’s nothing left.”

One of his hands reached into the pocket of his dark jeans and pulled out his phone, the time showing 9:30 in the morning. He smiled, turning the screen towards the rough and marked slab of stone.

“That morning, the clock said it was exactly this same moment when we made love for the last time and…" Ian’s voice died in his throat then, as fragments of that memory began flashing through his mind:

_Outside the room the sky had been gloomy and rigid – unusual for a day in the middle of spring – but inside those walls the atmosphere was stifling, their bodies moving frantically and in unison._

_“If this goes on, I'll never leave the damn bed, Gallagher," Mickey had said, voice hoarse from the early hour of the morning and from the pleasure of Ian's languid kisses across the sensitive area of his neck._

_“Sounds like a good idea to me," Ian whispered in approval, continuing to focus his attention on biting and licking all of Mickey's soft skin._

_“Again?” Mickey chuckled, running his fingers through Ian's scarlet, wild hair. “Are you trying to wear me out and hold me hostage for the rest of the day or are you just in a good mood?” Ian laughed, pulling back his head from the hollow of Mickey's neck, leaving a last kiss on the collarbone._

_“Probably both.” Ian’s gaze had fixed on Mickey's parted and swollen lips, still saturated from Ian's attentions. “Why?” he asked. “You got a problem with it?”_

_“You're a greedy asshole, you know that, right?” Mickey’s laugh was choked by a moan of pleasure when Ian took possession of his lower lip, nibbling it gently before licking the area with his tongue, making his way into his mouth._

_“I know,” he admitted, their mouths still touching. “I’ll always want more and more of you, I can't help myself.”_

_“Ian,” Mickey moaned, the blood boiling under his skin._

_Ian pulled back from the kiss to catch his breath, his eyes slowly reopening as his light green irises met Mickey's crystal-clear blue ones, and without ever looking away, their foreheads came smoothly together, and they stayed that way for a few moments, taking in any silent and unsaid emotions in their own private, comforting way of communicating._

_“Mick?” Ian said, questioning, and Mickey's eyelids grew heavy, his eyes slowly closing as he savored the taste of his own name falling from Ian's lips before grumbling in response._

_“Mh?”_

_“I love you,” Ian said –simple and honest – tracing the length of Mickey's arm with a slight touch, leaving behind a trail of chills along the skin of his porcelain boy before the back of their hands lightly rubbed against each other, and they linked them together, intertwining their fingers in a tight grip, making the corners of Mickey's mouth pull up in a gentle grin,_

_"You better be right, Gallagher!" He sneered. Ian's chest shook against Mickey's in a lighthearted laugh. "I love you too, idiot.”_

Ian shook his head frantically, composing himself from nostalgia and the desire to want to rewind the tapes of time – to wake up in that tangle of sheets and passion and be able to change what happened so he could stop having to cling to memories for the fear of forgetting those little details that made Mickey _his_.

“If I close my eyes,” he said, “I can still smell the scent of tobacco and mint that hovered around you, and the warmth of your body, and the ghost of your lips making their way over mine.”

Ian was no longer trying to hide his weakness now.

“Things have gotten worse lately, you know? My meds have stopped working and my mind has started going crazy.” Ian broke off a blade of grass, turning it over absently between his fingers as he muttered, “The anniversary of the accident overloaded the whole mess I carry inside of me, and for two weeks it was as if I were..." he paused for a moment.“…as if I were dead _with_ you. I felt like I already was, you know?” he added, blinking quickly to stave off the tears. “But that tiny part of me that was struggling to stay afloat just let itself drown in the pain completely. But I did my best to get out of it.”

Ian chewed on the inside of his cheek until he felt the bitter taste of blood against his tongue.

“Because how could I not be here with you today?” He laughed now, this time heartily. “It's always you, Mick.” The smile was still curving his lips as he added, “it's always been you who pulled me out of the nights filled with terror, it will _always_ be you, Mickey."

Ian’s fingers were still busy torturing the blade of grass and each other, and he stared down towards his stomach absently.

“Lip says I should go out more and meet new people. He says I don't necessarily have to have sex or fall in love with someone and 'all that gay bullshit…” he chuckled to himself, mocking the very thought of being able to love someone in this life other than Mickey. “…but that I should stop living in the past." Ian grinned, turning to Mickey’s ghost on his left. “I can hear your disapproval as you curse at Lip, telling him to take his fucking advice and go fuck himself.”

Ian’s gaze got lost inside the empty space in front of him, more tears beginning to flow down his face as that trick of the mind – as the ghost of Mickey – slowly dissolved away.

“The funny part, Mick, is that I tried,” he said, returning his gaze to the sky, running a hand over his wet face in a useless attempt to stem the tears. “I tried when I ran away with the army, and that was the first time I thought maybe the distance would've eased the anger and heartbreak.” The corners of Ian’s lips lifted slightly in a smile as those other memories came back to the surface one by one, and his heaving chest began to slow. “Or that time when I let Monica sneak inside my head…”

Ian was silent for a moment, frowning as he listened to that same breeze that brushed the hair away from his face.

“Or when I stopped visiting you in prison,” he continued, “but you had never given up on us. Then there was that time at the border when I broke your heart for the umpteenth time.”

Ian stopped, needing a break; he sat for a moment, letting out a long sigh he hadn't realize he’d been holding before continuing in a low voice.

“I've tried desperately to let you go, Mickey, and that's why I've lost you so many times…wasted so much time. Now I understand that even if you lose something, _someone_ …" he hesitated, glancing to his left – at Mickey. “You can't replace 'em.”

When his legs began to tingle, Ian moved a little; and after what seemed like an eternity, he shifted the weight of his body to the left side, finally facing the stone etched with that name that he had inked on his heart.

“Mickey?” he cried, reaching a hand out towards the rough stone, already nicked and weathered, even after such a short amount of time.

With his index finger, Ian traced the deep, carved-out letters one by one with the same kindness and the same affection he used to trace the black ink strokes on Mickey's fingers. That thought made him smile, yet at the same time it made him sink down into a seemingly endless melancholy.

“Mick,” he muttered again, so faintly that Ian himself struggled to recognize the sound of his own voice amongst the murmurs of nature around him. “I do my best,” he admitted, “but I feel so tired, and I can't sleep because your absence is too damn loud, and I’m too in love to leave it all behind.” Ian sniffed as another sob shook his chest. “I learned to stay away from you because I knew you’d always come back to me.”

The sun stopped shining suddenly – as if a metaphor for Ian’s life – hiding itself behind a blanket of thick clouds; the shadow fell over him, and for a moment, Ian felt the absence of the very comfort and warmth that reminded him of being alive.

“Every morning I force myself out of bed, I drag myself downstairs, and I sit in the exact spot where we said goodbye that last time before I watched you go out that damn door; and every morning eventually turns into night, and you've still never crossed back through that doorway a second time.” Ian’s voice was broken now. “You've stopped coming back to me, Mickey.”

Ian pushed the backs of his hands onto his eyes and wiped the corners.

“Til death do us part, huh?” he whispered, out of breath. “That’s bullshit!” Ian moved quickly, closing the distance between them as his body curled up against one side of the cold stone, his head resting against it. A tingling formed in the pit of his stomach then at the familiarity of that swift, needful action, recalling to his mind the many nights Ian had spent sinking his face into the welcoming space between Mickey's neck and shoulder.

It was kind of a habit for him...

“As long as I continue to exist,” he whispered sweetly, his eyes closing. “As long as my heart continues to beat, it will beat only for you, Mickey, until the very last; because there is no way that I’ll stop loving you. Not in this lifetime, and not in what comes after."

A dim beam of light made its way beyond the clouds then, and the heat from it rose up along Ian's body once more, and he smiled a soft smile, his heart pounding when he added,

“You won't get rid of me that easily, Milkovich!”

**Author's Note:**

> Every comment will be very appreciated, so feel free to write me something! Thank you so much ♡


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